by Chandra Ryan
She studied him carefully before boosting herself into the saddle in front of him. “Thank you.”
The hem of the tunic rode up dangerously as she settled between his thighs, leaving him with the almost irresistible urge to run his hand along the smooth skin it revealed.
“Ready?” She turned to look at him as she asked the question.
Tearing his gaze away from the creamy skin, he wrapped his hands around her waist. “Oh, you have no idea.”
He thought he heard her chuckle as she took up the reins, but the wind carried the sound away before he could be certain.
She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and they were racing over the plains. It wasn’t as fast as flying, but rocking rhythmically against her made it every bit as exhilarating. He couldn’t think of anything other than her naked thighs and the graceful sweep of her neck, which danced just inches from his mouth. By the time the small stone structure appeared in front of them, he was pondering what her body would feel like under his.
“How many live at the abbey?” His voice was rough, even to his ears.
Galloping past the building, she led the horse to a small stable and dismounted gracefully. “Just me, it’s a small village. I’m the officiating agricultural cleric.”
Not wanting to disturb the dry monk’s mud or display how much he’d enjoyed the ride, he dismounted carefully while she took the bit and reins off the horse.
“We should get you inside so you can lie down.”
Still picturing her lying under him, he chuckled. “That sounds interesting.”
Her eyes met his, the saddle frozen in her hands, and for one brief moment he thought she was going to agree. But then she shook her head as she put the saddle on a nearby table. “By yourself. So you can heal.”
He was disappointed with her answer but still smiled devilishly, his gaze seeking out her calves again. “That’s a shame.”
His eyes found hers and the flicker of gold surrounded her again, but before he could act on it, she broke the contact. Without saying a word, she turned and walked away. Irritation quickly replaced the desire in her aura, but he chose to focus on the sway of her hips instead. It was a pleasant sight. One he was happy to enjoy until she’d disappeared into the building.
Shaking himself out of his stupor, he followed her into the simple sanctuary. The comforting aroma of sandalwood mixed with mint surrounded him, their earthy scents both relaxing and rejuvenating.
“Over here.” She was already standing at the front of the room, her hand on the handle to a door that was just to the left of the altar. Their eyes caught for one moment before she turned and walked through the door.
He grimaced to himself as she disappeared. He was a hunter by nature and she was doing a damn good job playing prey, though it didn’t appear to be intentional. If he were honest with himself, he’d have to admit she’d done nothing that could be interpreted as an invitation, but that didn’t stop his body’s reaction to her. It was a situation that had the potential of becoming problematic.
Forcing himself to keep a tight hold on his instincts, he walked up the aisle between the pews and followed her through the door.
The sitting room was only dimly lit, a curtain over the window blocking much of the sunlight, but he didn’t have a problem finding her. Her eyes met his boldly as she pulled the new pair of breeches over her hips and tied them at her waist.
His chest tightened at the sight, but he stood his ground, refusing to move towards her.
“There should be some clothes that fit better in there.” She pointed to an open armoire before walking deeper into the room. “The last cleric stationed here was about your size. I’ll need to clean your wound and apply a salve, so don’t worry about the tunic.” With that, she disappeared through the door at the back of the room.
Alone, he wondered if he should stay. This was a dangerous game for him to play.
Taking a quick mental account of himself, he could tell his magic had healed most of the wound and her herbs had flushed out the poison. He might even be able to fly by now. But, as he turned toward the door, he found he didn’t want to leave, not really. He wanted to stay. He could push the boundaries of his control for a little bit longer, just until he discovered her intentions, then he could leave if need be.
His decision was made. Grabbing a pair of breeches from the armoire, he peeled hers off and slid the new pair on. He was relieved to find she’d been correct; they were a much better fit. He’d just gotten them tied when she breezed back into the room to gather several vials off a shelf.
“I put some water on the fire. If you’ll take a seat, I’ll be right back to see to that wound.” She nodded to an overstuffed chair before disappearing through the door again.
Sitting in the chair, he watched her intently as she moved from room to room gathering a bowl of hot water, several towels and some strips of linen. Each item was deposited on an unbalanced, rickety table next to the chair before she’d hurry off to get the next, the sway of her hips making him thankful for his decision to stay.
When the table appeared about to buckle under the weight of the supplies, she knelt in front of him, towel in hand. Dipping it in the water, she nudged her way between his thighs and then paused. “I need to wash off the mud before I can do anything else. I’m sorry, but this might sting.”
As the cloth swept over his skin, however, he found the sensation anything but painful.
“Dear Maker…” She leaned forward to get a better look at his injury. “You’ve almost healed already.”
He heard the words, but didn’t answer. His mind was too busy focusing on the feel of her breasts pressed against his thigh and the warmth of her breath on his skin.
“May I?”
Not knowing what she intended to do, the question left him at a loss.
“I’ve just never seen anything heal so quickly.”
Her fingertip skimmed over the skin lightly, eliciting a soft growl from the back of his throat. Her head shot up at the sound, her eyes meeting his, but there was no fear in their depths.
The game had gone far enough. It had to stop now, while he was still under control. “I thank you for saving my life, and for being so intent on keeping me alive, but I feel compelled to remind you that I am a dragon, not a school boy.”
She cocked her head to one side, her brow puckered as if in thought. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
He didn’t believe her, not with the flecks of desire and defiance that shimmered in her aura, but decided to be blunt, just in case. “You are a very tempting woman. You should be sure there’s no room to misinterpret what you’re offering.”
She sat back on her heels and studied him for a moment, regret flickering around her lightly. “Medicine is the only thing I’m at liberty to give.”
It wasn’t the answer he’d hoped to hear, but it did feel better to have it out in the open. “Thank you. I appreciate your honesty.” Exhaustion swept over him as he stared at her. It’d taken almost all of his energy to heal himself and now he needed to regenerate before he became too weak to deny himself the comfort of her body, or worse. “I need to sleep now, and when I wake, I’ll leave.”
“If that’s your wish.” She stood up, taking the bowl and towel with her.
Before he knew what he was doing, his hand reached out to capture one of hers. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
She smiled down at him. “Why would I be afraid?”
Everyone feared him, feared what he could do, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her that. “Even in human form, I’m much bigger than you.”
“The Firesting wasp is small enough to fit into my palm, yet one sting is fatal.” She released his hand with a reluctant smile. “Size is a worthless judge of threat. I prefer to look at character, and you haven’t done anything to make me question yours—yet. Now sleep.”
Her brow puckered at his bitter laugh, but she didn’t press. And, unable to look at t
he trust that shone in her eyes, he shut his eyes tightly and concentrated on sleep.
The sound of her humming a random tune was the last thing he remembered before he drifted off. It had a beautiful melody that filled him with dreams of the high mountains and the low valleys of his home.
Chapter Three
Sophie sighed as she saw his shoulders relax and his chest begin to rise and fall with the rhythm of sleep. Her gaze slid down his muscular torso until it found the wound in his abdomen. Unbelievably, it was healing. Only an angry red line remained where once there had been a poisoned hole, but still, she was uncomfortable leaving it untreated.
Before she could change her mind, she grabbed the salve and the bandages and knelt back down between his legs. She dipped her fingers in the creamy ointment and looked back at his torso, wondering if she was doing the right thing. He couldn’t possibly be angry with her for trying to help. And if he had to fight off infection he might be stuck here for days. Surely he didn’t want that?
Even she was willing to concede the argument was weak, but it was better than acknowledging the truth. She wanted to stay close to him, the desire to touch him was too great for her to resist, even if she was promised to another. Besides, he was asleep now. What harm could one touch do?
She reached out to him cautiously, her fingers massaging the medicine into his warm skin. She wasn’t afraid of him, not really, but she was having a hard time forgetting the way he’d snapped at her when she’d pulled the arrow out, not that she blamed him. It’d looked painful, and with his body poisoned, it would’ve been even more so. But warranted or not, his snapping had made an impression on her.
This time, however, he only moaned softly in his sleep. Wrapping the bandage around him, she secured it tightly and sat back on her heels. Now she didn’t even have her weak excuses to justify being between his powerful thighs, staring at his naked torso, but it didn’t seem to matter. She couldn’t force her eyes away from him.
When she’d come upon him in the field, she couldn’t believe how breathtakingly beautiful he was. His scales iridescent purples and blues so dark they appeared black. But nothing could have prepared her for the devastatingly handsome man he’d become right in front of her. With skin the color of ground cinnamon and eyes of onyx, he was the embodiment of temptation. And that was before she’d let her gaze skim over his muscular body and lean hips.
Shaking her head to clear the memory, she brought her attention back to the present. Fantasizing about the man wasn’t going to help her stay faithful to Naryn. She needed to get up and go do something. Then, when he woke, he’d be off. He’d leave and everything would return to normal.
For one brief moment, she felt jealousy sweep through her. Soon he’d be flying away, the wind rushing over him as he made his way back to a life with no orders, no edicts, no compromises, and her life would go back to the way it’d always been. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair.
As quickly as the jealously came though, it left, replaced with the numb quiet she’d grown so used to. She had a good life—for the most part. And really, it wasn’t like she had any other options. It wasn’t like he was offering her an alternative. True, falling into those muscular arms might feel good for a moment, might offer her freedom from her prescribed life for a brief time, but he was leaving. And after he was gone, she’d have to either face Naryn with the truth or spend a lifetime lying to him. Neither option sounded appealing.
So why was she still kneeling in between his thighs?
She was so tired she couldn’t think straight. Poor sleep and the physical exertion of the rescue were taking their toll on her.
And then there was the dragon. What on earth was she going to do with a dragon?
Sophie snuggled into the soft leather under her head. The spicy-earthy scent of cloves enveloped her as firm fingers brushed over her cheek. It felt so good. She felt so good. Only her legs hurt. They felt tingly, like they’d fallen asleep, like she’d fallen asleep.
The hunter, the dragon, the chair—it all came back to her at once.
Bolting upright, her eyes locked with smoky black ones.
“I fell asleep.” Her voice had a dreamy thickness to it.
“I know.”
There was a feeling of expectancy pressing against her, demanding she do something. “I’m Sophie.”
“Reuel.” He looked down at the bandage then back up at her.
“I know you said you just needed sleep, but I was worried about infection.”
“It was kind of you to be concerned.”
She was transfixed by his gaze, by the hunger and need echoing in its dark depths. It would be so easy to lean forward, to close the gap between them, so easy to bring her mouth to his.
“I realized I hadn’t thanked you for saving me, not properly at least.” His voice was rough as he spoke, sending tiny warning bells off in her head. But she refused to hear them.
Unable to tear her gaze away from his, she nodded absently. “I’m a cleric. It’s my duty.” She wasn’t sure if she was telling him or reminding herself.
He smiled seductively as he leaned forward. “All the same, thank you.”
Her head was spinning from his nearness, making it difficult for her breath, difficult for her to find the right words. “You’re welcome.”
He cocked his head to one side as he studied her carefully. “Now you do look frightened, how very odd.”
“I’m not frightened.” She cursed the breathiness of her voice and her racing heart. It was so loud she was certain he could hear it.
His smile broadened for a moment and then disappeared altogether. “Let’s find out, shall we?”
Strong arms pulled her onto his lap seconds before his mouth found hers. Feeling the passion and heat of the kiss, her body responded. Moaning softly, she thrust her hips towards his, bringing their bodies closer. It’d been three years since she’d shared her bed with another, an abstinence that was weighing heavily on her.
She felt his hands slide under her tunic, strong fingers exploring the contours of her back. His mouth opened and, without any thought to the consequences, she deepened the kiss. Her tongue meeting his, she felt a wave of heat sweep through her. Gone were any objections.
Her hands began exploring the smooth skin of his torso while her mouth left a trail of kisses from his neck down to his collar bone. Rocking her hips against his, she could feel his erection pressing against the leather of his breeches.
In her fog of desire, she heard her name called, but it took a second for her to realize it wasn’t the man under her calling it, but Naryn.
“Maker’s tears!” Sophie jumped off of Reuel’s lap and quickly straightened her tunic, her eyes never leaving his. “I’m so sorry.” She wasn’t sure if she was talking to Reuel or about the man she’d been promised to.
Her name rang out again, this time louder.
“Do you have to?” His eyes glowed with barely controlled hunger, but he didn’t make a move for her.
“If I don’t go to him, he’ll come to me.”
He looked towards the door and nodded. “But we aren’t finished here.”
Not knowing how to tell him that they were indeed finished, she turned and walked away.
“I’m here.” She stumbled through the door, making sure to shut it tightly behind her. The last thing she wanted was for her betrothed to know she had company. Running her fingers through her hair, she forced herself to look at Naryn. Today his pale skin looked pastier than usual and his hair was a tangled nest sitting upon his head. Staring at him, she couldn’t help but compare him to Reuel, a comparison she knew was unfair.
“Sophie, thank the Maker you’re alright.”
She hoped her face didn’t show any of her guilt. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because there was a dragon flying over earlier.”
Her heart froze as she heard the words. Could he possibly know the dragon was in the next room?
“A dragon?” Her voice squeaked sl
ightly with the words.
“Yes. It should be dead by now, but if you go riding on the plains take caution.”
Realizing he knew nothing of her guest, she relaxed and fell into the expected conversation. “Dragons are so rare. How can you be sure?”
“Because I shot him down, vile creature.” His top lip curled in disgust, giving him the look of a demented feline.
Sophie felt numb at the words. She couldn’t imagine killing any of the Maker’s creatures, let alone one as magnificent as a dragon. That he would only widened the chasm between them. “You shot down a dragon? Tried to kill him?” She felt compelled to repeat the words, as if that would somehow make them less true.
“I didn’t try, I succeeded. Unless he’s immune to bane’s breath.”
Recognizing the painfully poisonous plant, she gasped. “Bane’s breath isn’t church sanctioned.”
“And are you going to report me? It was a dragon, for Maker’s sake.” He turned away from her, his fists balled tightly at his sides, but then turned back. “Sometimes I don’t understand you. You treat a child with more reverence than the Maker’s will and a dragon with more concern than your own people.”
“I don’t know the Maker’s will, Naryn. None of us do. And a dragon is one of the Maker’s creations. Our oath doesn’t allow us to put one life above another.”
He clenched his fists as he stared at her. “I guess we have different interpretations of the oath.”
She was so tired of arguing with him. So tired of arguing with herself. “It appears we have different interpretations on many things these days.”
This time when he turned from her, he left; the door rung loudly as it slammed shut behind him.
Walking back into her living quarters, she wasn’t sure she was up to facing Reuel. She felt completely drained by the encounter and more than a little ashamed of her brazen behavior.
“Who was it?”
The question wasn’t accusatory, but she still felt defensive. Recognizing her reaction as one of frayed nerves, she took a deep breath as she sought out some sort of inner calm. “It was Naryn. He’s a healer.” She paused for a second debating how much to tell him. “And my betrothed.”
